She's Yours
by JenniferC16
Summary: A quick one-shot about how John gave Baby to Dean.


A/N: This was a quick one shot that I feel could have been done a lot better but it is what it is. I suck at this! :)

\- August 2004

It was a record setting hot August day as the Impala sat outside room 114 with the hood up. Dean was bent over, tightening up the last bolt, he threw the wrench back into the toolbox, turning and leaning back on Baby.

Just another seedy motel they were staying at, one of hundreds that Dean had grown accustomed to living his life in and to call home for a few days. They had just wrapped up a case, a haunting at a nursing home and were just taking a few days to get some rest and get a line on a new case.

He groaned, looking up at the sun and took a swig from a bottle of beer as two girls passed by, giggling and laughing, he straightened up a little and gave them a sly smile, "Hello, ladies". They looked him up and down and kept walking, giggling and whispering to each other as they made their way to the motel pool. He stared at them as they walked away, tilting his head to the side as he lustfully eyed their bikinis…

– [slap]! –

John Winchester slapped the back of his oldest sons' head, "Did you hear a damn word I just said, boy?" Dean shot up like a soldier at attention and stammered, "Erm, yessir!"

John looked over to the girls direction just as they disappeared around the corner and rolled his eyes. "You're always distracted by a pretty face, Dean, and thinking with your downstairs brain".

Dean's jaw tightened slightly but then a smile started to escape the side of his mouth. He knew better than to sass his own father but he couldn't help himself, leaning down to rest his arms on frame of the car, he drawled "Well, dad, I'm a young buck, I ain't no monk like some people."

John looked up from polishing the motor and stared at his son.

The death stare. That glaring look only a father can give a son. The kind that burns through the skin, melts bone and sears right into the soul. The kind of look that says "I brought you into this world and, believe me you, boy, I can damn well take you out."

Dean instantly regretted his words. He grabbed a rag and started randomly wiping down the different parts of the motor.

"I didn't say you can't have fun. You're a hunter, Dean. You have to be on the ball all of the time and pay attention."

"I pay attention!" Dean scoffed.

"Oh, really? Then what was I saying while you were busy drooling over Paris and Nicole over there?"

Dean frowned, half-amazed that his old man would know about Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie but he decided this was a great opportunity to prove to his dad that he was indeed paying attention. As he always had been his entire life. He always carefully studied John especially on a hunt. The way he tracked, the way he cleaned his weapons. John was meticulous and had a purpose for every movement. Dean would watch and learn in hopes to be a hunter just as good as his dad.

Dean stood straight, grabbing a screwdriver and bent over the car again, tightening and adjusting.

"You were saying to change the filters. And to never try to save a buck on oil. Use only the synthetic. She's only going to run as good as the work and time you put into her. Always check the alignment even if you don't think it needs it and don't forget to oil the race seats before putting the new pinion bearing in and for the love of all that is holy, wash the damn car."

Dean looked up at his father with a proud grin.

John raised his eyebrow, surprised that his son was actually listening and managed to recite nearly every word back.

"Okay, then." He said, jingling the keys in hand as he made his way around the car, handing them to Dean.

"She's yours."

Deans' grin suddenly was wiped clean as his mouth dropped. "Mine?" he stammered, staring at the keys.

John nodded. "Until I say otherwise."

"But, so help me, if you race her, wreck her or ruin her in any way, I will make you the sorriest SOB to ever walk God's green earth. Do you understand me?" poking his son's chest.

Dean could only nod and reply just above a whisper, "Yes, sir."

"I gotta go take care of something for a week or so in Jericho. You grab that voodoo case in New Orleans and we'll meet up when we're done. Got it?"

Dean, again, nodded.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?" John said, dropping the hood shut and running the rag over the grill.

"You're giving me the Impala."

"Did I hit you too hard? We just covered that, Dean. But remember, it's only until I say otherwise."

Dean grinned, "Yes, sir."

"This damn heat is killing me, I'm gonna hit the showers. Grab some burgers when I'm done?"

Dean nodded, "Sounds good. And pie too."

John headed off to the room but Dean stayed. He ran his fingers over the hood and walked to the driver's side door, opening it and sliding in. He'd been in this car a thousand times over but this moment felt like he was getting in for the very first time.

"She's yours" John's voice kept repeating inside Dean's head.

Dean breathed shakily as he gripped the wheel and put his foot on the gas pedal. He glanced in the rear view mirror and peered over into the backseat. He smiled, thinking of all the memories he had with Sam there.

Sam.

Sammy.

Dean sighed. He wished Sam was there to share this moment with him. But he wasn't. He was at college and things had ended so badly between he and John that Dean wouldn't dare mention Sam's name anymore. Dean thought to call Sam and check in but he figured it best to just leave things as it were.

After all, Sam was happy, he got his wish. He was out of the life and going to school and Dean, Dean was living the dream. On the road, hunting, saving lives, jumping from seedy motels to dive bars and hooking up with chicks. It was any red-blooded male's dream. Well, Dean's dream anyway.

Dean ran his hands over the worn leather of the front seat then clicked the radio on. A classic rock station tuned in, of course, classic rock. Led Zeppelin came over the speakers:

 _Got no time for spreadin' roots_ _  
_ _The time has come to be gone_ _  
_ _And thoough our health we drank a thousand times_ _  
_ _It's time to ramble on_

Dean smiled.

He might not have had a house to grow up in and didn't have a place where he had roots but he didn't need one. The Impala was home. Baby was where he grew up, where he had the best and the worst memories. Falling asleep in the backseat to the hum of her motor as she rolled down the highway was as comforting as the sound of Mary humming "Hey, Jude".

It was then that Dean vowed to her that he would always keep her pristine and safe. She was his Baby now and he would never part with her.

"I got you, baby." He said with a smile as he turned the key, revving the engine as she let out a powerful roar.

\- end -


End file.
